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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133910">Hope for The Best</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/FBLayla11/pseuds/FBLayla11'>FBLayla11</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Twilight (Movies), Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AH - Freeform, All Human, Divorce, F/M, Post-Divorce, Reconciliation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:07:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,488</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133910</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/FBLayla11/pseuds/FBLayla11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After six years, Edward and Bella’s marriage has fallen apart. Will they be able to find each other again, or will their lives drift too far apart? AH AU (no cheating)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edward Cullen/Bella Swan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 1- </p>
<p>I can’t exactly pinpoint the moment my marriage began to fall apart. </p>
<p>After only six and a half years as a married couple, things were just... not good. </p>
<p>At some point, we’d just stopped talking to each other. No “how was your day?”, no “I love you.” Not even a “hello” or “goodbye” anymore. We didn’t share meals anymore, and I can’t even remember the last time we went out on a date. A year ago? Maybe two?</p>
<p>He’d been so invested in his company and his career. Late nights at the office, traveling, networking. Sometimes I think he just forgets he married me. </p>
<p>Is he cheating? I don’t know, honestly. I really don’t believe so. Unless you count having an affair with your job as cheating.</p>
<p>I’m lonely like all the fucking time, just like achingly lonely. </p>
<p>We moved away from all my family and friends from Washington State to New York City so that he could start his own investment firm. Meanwhile, the only respite I have to the bitter loneliness is my job, which is unfulfilling at best. I’m a human resource specialist for a big name bank. A nine to five. I’ve made some friends here in the city, but most of them have kids and busy lives. </p>
<p>It’s midnight on a Tuesday. He’s not home yet. He hasn’t texted or called. This is typical. If I flew back home for good, would he even notice? And even if he did, would he care? </p>
<p>I haven’t done this in a while, but I pick up my iPhone and call. It goes straight to voicemail. He hit the ignore button. </p>
<p>I think he hit the ignore button on our marriage too. </p>
<p>Edward and I were once madly in love, couldn’t keep our hands off one another. We made plans and promises. By now, we should’ve had a family. I’m damn near thirty, he’s thirty two. </p>
<p>Should I just leave? Pack a bag and go? I can’t cry myself to sleep anymore. I’ve done that far too many times, each time leaving me more bitter than before. </p>
<p>I’ve been thinking about leaving him, but each time I do my chest aches and I feel like I can’t breathe. He’s been my entire life since I was seventeen years old. </p>
<p>I started seeing a therapist a few months ago. Talking helps. She’s asked me if I thought he would agree to couples counseling. </p>
<p>I bit the bullet and asked him last month and he didn’t answer. He didn’t say a single word in response. He only glared at me and turned the other way to sleep. </p>
<p>It’s two AM, I’m wide awake. My mind won’t shut off. I hear the front door open. He’s home. </p>
<p>The light in the closet turns on and I can hear him removing his tie and suit. He doesn’t check on me, doesn’t kiss my forehead like he used to. It’s robotic. </p>
<p>He turns the light off and I feel the bed dip. I want to say something to him, but I can’t seem to find the words. I fall asleep, wordless, dreamless, lifeless. </p>
<p>Purgatory. </p>
<p>When I wake up before dawn, he’s gone. He’s always gone. </p>
<p>I can’t do this anymore. </p>
<p>My chest constricts, but I have to find the strength. </p>
<p>At work, I google divorce attorneys, then realtors. </p>
<p>Katherine Upshaw, Esq. I make an appointment, breathing in and out as I speak. I won’t cry, I tell myself. I absolutely will not.</p>
<p>I cry anyway.</p>
<p>Four days later, the papers are drawn up. I tell Kate when and where to serve them. I go home, pack a suitcase and leave my life. I go to a hotel until I can find a suitable apartment to rent. I won’t be there after he’s served. He won’t know where to find me. </p>
<p>Maybe now he’ll call. It would be the first time in months that his number flashed on my screen.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 2</p>
<p>I know the moment he’s served. It’s midday on Monday. My phone lights up. It’s him. I don’t want to answer, but I do anyway. </p>
<p>“Edward.” I say shakily.</p>
<p>“Are you out of your fucking mind?” He berates. This is the first time he’s actually spoken to me in weeks. </p>
<p>“I’m not.” I manage. He’s volcanically angry. </p>
<p>“Bella, what the fuck?” He’s not screaming, but I can tell he’s seething.</p>
<p>“Are you honestly that surprised, Edward?” I’m finding the courage and strength. “You haven’t said a single word to me in weeks. You’re never around.” </p>
<p>“Jesus Christ Bella. I don’t want this.” He’s starting to sound desperate. “Where are you? I need to see you.” He says, panic stricken.</p>
<p>I’m at my office, but he doesn’t know where that is because I moved three months ago when I was promoted and he never cared enough to ask or visit. </p>
<p>“I’m at work. It’s not a good idea.” The last thing I need is a scene.</p>
<p>“Let me move some things and I’ll meet you for dinner. Please, Bella.” I’m hopeful. Maybe he just needed a wake up call? </p>
<p>I agree to dinner and name the restaurant and time.</p>
<p>Eight o’clock. He’s not here. Eight fifteen, still a no show. How much longer should I wait? Hope is a shitty thing. </p>
<p>At eight forty five, I drain the last of my red wine, pay the bill and Uber back to the hotel.</p>
<p>At ten, my iPhone lights up. Ignore. </p>
<p>It lights up again. Ignore. Ten more times, ignore. </p>
<p>I’m numb, shaking and my head is pounding. </p>
<p>It’s over.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 3</p>
<p>It’s been a month since Edward was served divorce papers. He signed them, not contesting anything. The loft we once shared will be sold, splitting the profit fifty fifty. He’s going to pay me alimony. I don’t care about the money, but Kate convinced me that I am due. </p>
<p>I found an apartment. A cute loft in Brooklyn. </p>
<p>I haven’t seen or heard from Edward. Further confirmation that he doesn’t care. </p>
<p>I continue to see my therapist. It’s helping. She’s trying to make me believe that I deserve happiness.</p>
<p>I had happiness once, but now I just feel lost. I don’t know where my life is going or what I should even do next. </p>
<p>I think about him all the time. The memories of the times when we were carefree and in love haunt me. There was a time when my heart beat in sync with his. Now he’s a stranger to me. </p>
<p>Sometimes, I think I see him outside my loft, but when I look, there is nothing there. Maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe my mind is playing a sadistic joke on me. </p>
<p>I can’t keep torturing myself this way, but I don’t know how to get out of this viscous loop I’m in. Maybe I am a masochist. Pining for a man that abandoned me, as if he never existed at all. But I don’t know how to stop.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 4- </p>
<p>It’s been eight months since the divorce. I’m getting better. I joined a support group. That’s where I met Jake. His wife left him for another man six months ago. He’s still trying to finalize his divorce.</p>
<p>We talk a lot. He helps me put things in perspective. The aching hole in my chest doesn’t feel so wide anymore. It’s not romantic. It never will be, but when I’m with him, I feel stronger.</p>
<p>Jake actually encouraged me to go on a date. Not with him, with a guy I matched on Hinge.</p>
<p>I’ve never dated anyone but Edward. I don’t know how to do this. Maybe that’s why Jake encouraged it. I need to find myself again. </p>
<p>Riley is a nice guy. We meet at a restaurant six blocks from my loft. He’s boyishly handsome, he opens the door for me and pulls out my chair. The restaurant is dimly lit, illuminated by candles perched in the middle of the tables. </p>
<p>He asks me about myself, but I don’t know how to respond. For so long I was identified by my marriage. Now, I don’t know who or what I am. </p>
<p>I tell him that I’m divorced and what I do for a living.</p>
<p>Hobbies? No. I used to be into photography, but that was a decade ago. I used to read avidly, but not anymore. </p>
<p>He tells me he’s also divorced. Her name was Victoria and she left him because she wanted to move to LA to pursue a career as an actor. He’s a consultant for a private security firm. I’m not sure what that means, exactly, but he seems pretty passionate about it. </p>
<p>We eat, drink and talk. I like him and know that if he asks for a second date, I will agree. </p>
<p>He walks me home and kisses my cheek chastely. He asks for a second date. </p>
<p>The next day, I download some books on my kindle app. I resolve to find myself again. I go into my closet and fish through a box, pulling out my old camera. It’s woefully out of date, so I go online and purchase the latest and greatest.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 5- </p>
<p>I’m roaming around Brooklyn, snapping shots of the Brooklyn bridge with my new camera. Playing with the aperture, trying different angles. It feels good. The pictures are pure shit, but still. </p>
<p>I’m happy, or at least as happy as I can be. My phone lights up. Riley. I love that he calls and texts me at random times, just to talk. </p>
<p>“Hi Ry.” I say cheerfully. </p>
<p>“Hey Bella.” His voice makes me smile. “Come to my place tonight? I’ll make us some dinner.” He asks. </p>
<p>We’ve been on five dates so far. I know traditionally on the third date you’re supposed to have sex, but we haven’t yet. I’m not quite ready. I’ve only ever been with Edward, so I’m trying to overcome this irrational guilt I have. </p>
<p>“What time?” I ask.</p>
<p>“Seven?” </p>
<p>“I’ll be there.” I say and hang up. </p>
<p>I’m nervous, because Riley has been patient with me. We talked about the guilt, and he’s made sure to tell me he has no expectations and that we’ll get there when it feels right. </p>
<p>We have dinner, drink some wine and talk. After dinner, we sit on his couch to watch a documentary, but we don’t do much watching. </p>
<p>He kisses me. It’s nice and slow, his tongue makes me feel good. His hands roam my body, and for the first time find their way beneath my clothes. I do the same. His muscles are taut.  His hands feel good on my body. He traces my nipples with his thumb and I start to feel tightness between my legs. </p>
<p>God, I haven’t felt this way in a long time. </p>
<p>“Bella” he whispers between kisses. I know I’m not ready for more than what we’re doing. </p>
<p>“We need to stop.” I respond breathlessly. </p>
<p>He sighs heavily. “I’m sorry. I’m just not quite there.” I tap the side of my head. </p>
<p>I wish I could just throw caution to the wind and give in to my body, but I seriously cannot risk fucking up my head. </p>
<p>He nods in understanding. I pick up my phone and order a ride. It’s late and I have work in the morning. </p>
<p>“I promise I’m working on it.” I kiss his lips lightly as I walk out the door. </p>
<p>“I know. Good night, Bella.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 6-</p>
<p>It’s Saturday, a day I usually spend sleeping in and catching up on chores. I’m awoken by the sound of knocking on my door. I groggily get up, peak through the hole and find Alice Cullen on the other side. </p>
<p>My breath catches and my heart beats wildly. </p>
<p>I open the door. She looks tired and sad, pulling me in for the biggest hug. </p>
<p>“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asks, wiping an errant tear.</p>
<p>“I was embarrassed.” I admit.</p>
<p>“He didn’t tell anyone.” I blink away tears. I’m not surprised. He doesn’t communicate, and I tell her so.</p>
<p>I also tell her how he basically abandoned me and our marriage and how truly alone I felt.</p>
<p>“I wished that you would’ve called me.” She says sadly. I wanted to, truly I did. I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to have his sister mediate our issues. </p>
<p>“I don’t know what to say, Alice. Nothing I said or did helped. It was like he had forgotten what we were to each other. I mean, was it all a lie? Did I fabricate how fucking amazing we once were?” </p>
<p>“He’s a fucking idiot.” Alice said. “And he’s fucking miserable, by the way.” </p>
<p>Part of me felt joy over the fact that he was miserable, and another part of me didn’t want to know because I knew I would care. </p>
<p>“Jasper is with him now, but B, I’m telling you, he’s hasn’t been ok for a while.” </p>
<p>I shake my head in frustration. “Don’t tell me, please. I can’t. I’m trying to be better myself. I just don’t have the strength to worry about him. I know that may seem selfish, but I literally gave my entire being to him and he shattered me. I’m just trying to glue myself back together.” I implore. </p>
<p>“Oh Bella.” she says hugging me tightly. </p>
<p>“I’ve been seeing someone.” I admit. She looks down. I know that admission has disappoints her. </p>
<p>“It’s new.” I add. “His name is Riley. We’ve seen each other a handful of times. He’s nice.” She’s probably going to take that back to Edward. And the thought of him knowing I’m seeing someone simultaneously breaks my heart and thrills me. I feel shitty for feeling that way.</p>
<p>“I really wished that I’d known you two were having problems. I knew that moving across the country was the wrong move, but he wouldn’t listen.”</p>
<p>“He never does, Al.”</p>
<p>“I hoped that after I filed, it would be a wake up call for him, and part of me believes it actually was. But I knew it was over the minute he stood me up that last time.”</p>
<p>“Oh sweetie, I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>“I have to go back to Manhattan, but please promise not to shut me out. You’re my sister and I love you.” </p>
<p>“I love you too, Al.” I cry. I miss her so much and when she hugs me, the dam breaks. I sob, she hold me until I’m ok. She leaves and the hole in my chest opens back up just a little bit. </p>
<p>Alice’s visit has thrown me. I don’t want to question things. I’m trying to move on with my life. I’m trying to re-discover who I am. I can’t dwell on Edward’s misery. He certainly didn’t dwell on mine the last two years. </p>
<p>I’m resolved to move on with Riley in every way.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 7-</p>
<p>The following Saturday, I find myself in Riley’s apartment. We order takeout and settle in to watch the latest superhero movie. I’ve psyched myself up. I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.</p>
<p>I pull Riley in for a kiss. It turns heated pretty quickly. He reaches beneath my top, caressing my breasts like he did before. This time, I want more. </p>
<p>I rub him through his pants, then shift my position so that I’m straddling him. </p>
<p>“Bella.” He says my name breathlessly. I circle my hips. It drives him wild. He scoots off the couch, picking me up. He carries me to the bedroom, and sets me in his bed. </p>
<p>Clothes are removed and he kisses me with fervent passion. His fingers find me, readying me for him. I try so hard to stay in the moment, but his hands feel wrong. </p>
<p>I close my eyes, squeezing them shut. Willing the thoughts of Edward to leave my brain. </p>
<p>Riley rips the foil packet and I grip the sheets. I’m no longer a woman who has only ever slept with one man. </p>
<p>I don’t orgasm. I couldn’t let go. My brain and my body are not in alignment and I don’t know that they ever will be again. </p>
<p>When it’s over, I know I’m going to break it off. I really, foolishly, thought I was ok. I’m not. </p>
<p>We lay there for a few moments, but when Riley goes to the bathroom, I re-dress. </p>
<p>“You okay?” He asks concern filling his features. I’m not, but I smile and nod. </p>
<p>“I think I’m going to head home.” I say, desperately needing space. </p>
<p>“Stay.” He asks pleadingly. </p>
<p>“I can’t” is all I say. For so many reasons, one of which being that I feel so fucking wrong. </p>
<p>“I’ll drive you.” I just nod in agreement. We get into Riley’s pickup truck. </p>
<p>When we arrive at my loft, Riley parallel parks in a space in front of the building. </p>
<p>Riley jumps out and rushes to my side, opening the door for me. Over his shoulder I see a man sitting on the stoop of my building.</p>
<p>The air leaves my lungs. My heart beats out of my fucking chest and my head begins to pound.</p>
<p>Edward. </p>
<p>Riley grabs my hand, but I shake it off. He doesn’t recognize what’s about to happen because he doesn’t know who Edward is. </p>
<p>Edward watches Riley hold my hand and he stands up. Furiously, he walks towards us. </p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” I’m panicking. He shoves past me and decks Riley in the face. </p>
<p>“What the fuck, Edward. Stop!” I scream. </p>
<p>Riley is stunned, but quickly figures out what’s going on. He wipes the blood from his nose, furrows his brows then rears back and punches Edward in the left eye. </p>
<p>“Stop it! Stop!” I yell, plead. I move to stand between the two men. </p>
<p>“This is who you’re fucking?” Edward accuses. </p>
<p>I’m furious. I haven’t seen or spoken to him in almost a year and this is what he’s doing? I ignore him. </p>
<p>“Fuck, Ri, I’m so fucking sorry. Are you ok?” He has blood dripping out of his nostrils. I rush to his side and it infuriates Edward. </p>
<p>“Ri? Pfft” Edward says. I ignore the jab. </p>
<p>“I’m fine.” He says angrily. He’s pacing like a caged animal. “Who is this fucking guy to you? Riley asks bitterly. </p>
<p>“He’s my ex-husband. I’m so sorry. Just please go home. I’ll call you.” I beg. </p>
<p>“You think I’m leaving you here alone with this maniac?” Riley says.</p>
<p>“Fuck off, douche. Get in your fucking little truck if that’s what you call it and fuck right the hell off.” Edwards yells pointing furiously. </p>
<p>“Shut the fuck up, Edward.” I’m seething. </p>
<p>I turn to Riley and beg him to leave. I’m nearly shoving him in the truck at this point, I’m desperate. </p>
<p>He’s pissed, but he gets in the truck and leaves. </p>
<p>Now that Riley is gone, I can see that Edward is drunk, or has been drinking at least. We stare at each other for a long time. I end our stand off by walking past him, up the stairs into my loft. </p>
<p>He follows me. I don’t know how drunk he is, so I don’t know if it’s even worth trying to talk to him. </p>
<p>“You’re fucking him.” He says as a matter of fact. </p>
<p>“What’s it to you.” I’m tired. There is no inflection in my voice. </p>
<p>“What’s it to me? You’re my fucking wife. That’s what it is to me.” He’s pacing, pulling at his hair. </p>
<p>“Ex wife.” I correct. “You gave up on me years ago, Edward.”</p>
<p>“The hell I did.” He stops pacing and stands in front of me, staring me down. </p>
<p>I’m stunned by his words because I’ve lived in a lifeless marriage for years. I wonder if he could even pinpoint the last time he told me he loved me and meant it. </p>
<p>“Why are you doing this right now? Why?” I’m pleading. </p>
<p>He begins pacing again, his hands run wildly through his hair, pulling strands. He finally sits on my couch with his elbows to his knees. “I miss you so fucking much, Bella.” He looks up. His eyes are red rimmed, tears unshed. </p>
<p>It’s disarming. I’ve never seen him like this. </p>
<p>“What the fuck happened to us?” He questions. His voice pained. </p>
<p>He gave up on us, that’s what happened. He chose his career over me. </p>
<p>“At some point, you prioritized your career over our marriage, Edward.” I said. “You have no idea how lonely I was.” </p>
<p>“You just left me though, Bella. One day you were just gone. I didn’t know what to do. I just signed the papers thinking you were better off without me, and maybe you are, but I’m not better off without you.” </p>
<p>“I tried so fucking hard, Edward. You just stopped calling, texting, hell, I never saw you. You would come home at one or two in the morning and be gone by six. Every fucking day.” How did he not see this as a problem? He hangs his head. </p>
<p>“And I thought, maybe, just fucking maybe, divorce papers would make you see how bad it was and maybe that would, I don’t know, light a fire or something. I needed to see that you actually cared enough to fight for us, but you fucking stood me up again.” I unload.</p>
<p>“I tried calling you that night. I had a meeting I couldn’t cancel. I didn’t stand you up.” He tries to defend. </p>
<p>“That’s literally the definition of standing someone up. And if you really cared about our marriage you would’ve told whoever the meeting was with to fuck right the hell off, but again, I wasn’t important enough.” </p>
<p>“I fucked up! Okay, is that what you want to hear?” He pleads. </p>
<p>“No. I don’t want to hear that because it’s about ten months too late.” </p>
<p>“So you’re choosing this fucking Riley guy over me? Over us?” </p>
<p>“I’m not choosing anything. We’re divorced. You chose your career over us.”</p>
<p>“Bella.” His eyes are begging me. His voice is a whisper. He sounds broken. It’s exactly how I felt the night he stood me up.</p>
<p>“I need you to leave.” I move to the door, opening it. “Bella, please.” I can’t look at him. My will is going to break. </p>
<p>When he leaves, I break down. Where was he two years ago? Hell, if he’d have shown that much emotion even ten months ago, things might be different now.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 8- </p>
<p>I text Riley the next day and end things. I apologize to him, clearly my life is too fucked up to have a normal, healthy relationship. </p>
<p>I don’t regret dating Riley, or even sleeping with him. It was an important step in moving on with my life. </p>
<p>Riley is more gracious to me than I deserve. He almost seems relieved. I suppose I am as much his rebound as he is mine. </p>
<p>I don’t hear from Edward again. It’s possible that he doesn’t even remember the confrontation or subsequent conversation. </p>
<p>I continue to read and photograph. My photography is getting much better, as I discover what I like to shoot and what I want to convey. I create an Instagram for my photography and share it with my work friend, Laurent. He’s an HR Generalist and his husband runs a gallery in SoHo. Laurent is impressed and says he’s going to show his husband my Insta.</p>
<p>A week later, Laurent seeks me out. I’m in the break room eating a sandwich. </p>
<p>“So, I showed Liam your photos and he suggested you have some of them printed and framed to sell at the Art Festival.” He pulls out his iPhone and goes to my account. He points out the photos that Liam told him were the best. </p>
<p>I never thought about monetizing my hobby, but Liam has a good idea. I find myself getting excited about something for the first time in ages. </p>
<p>“You really think people will buy them?” I ask. I think my photos are good, but amateur and uninspired. </p>
<p>“You‘ll never know until you try.” He says encouragingly. </p>
<p>He pulls up the Brooklyn Art Festival website and helps me reserve a booth. </p>
<p>He texts Liam to find a company who will print and frame my photos and by the end of my lunch break, almost everything is done. All I need to do is order a banner. </p>
<p>B. Cullen Photography </p>
<p>If my artwork sells well at the festival, Laurent suggests I create a website. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I’m happy. I’m smiling. I feel like I have direction in life despite my boring job and failed marriage.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 9-</p>
<p>It’s the day of the festival. Liam and Laurent have kindly offered to help me set up my tent. </p>
<p>Liam is hanging the prints and Laurent is helping me hang my banner. We’ve already priced out the prints. </p>
<p>“Who’s going to pay five hundred for this, honestly.” I ask, pointing to one of my favorites. It’s a black and white of a pretty tulip with a dew droplet falling from its petal. </p>
<p>“Honey, this one is underpriced. Trust me.” Liam says. He’s the expert, so I shrug. If I actually sell it for five hundred, I promise to buy them dinner and drinks. </p>
<p>An hour later, and my booth is full. I’ve already sold two. The first was an intentionally blurry shot of the Brooklyn bridge. The second was the tulip. </p>
<p>I’ve made over seven fifty and Liam is working his magic on a third piece. </p>
<p>“It’s evocative, no? I can almost feel the heartbreak through her lens.” He describes. The photo shows a couple sitting on a park bench. I focused not on the couple, rather on the storm clouds overhead. Everything is in color, except the couple, who are in gray. </p>
<p>“You’re right.” Says the customer. “I think it would look great in my office. How much is it?” </p>
<p>“Seven twenty five.” Liam says. I about die of giddiness. I’m in awe of Liam. He interprets my photography better than me. Through his thoughtful descriptions, he’s able to sell nearly everything in my booth. </p>
<p>At the end of the festival, I end up making nearly eight thousand dollars! </p>
<p>“I fucking love your husband.” I tell Laurent, hugging him. </p>
<p>“He’s amazing, right?” He says with a glean in his eye. He sure as hell is. </p>
<p>“Dinner and drinks?” I suggest, and they both agree. </p>
<p>I decide to create a website. As I lay my head down to sleep, I think about all the things I want to photograph. I dream about quitting my day job and doing this full time, but I know I cannot do that yet. I’m a single woman, and I need the healthcare and the benefits.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 10-</p>
<p>I’m feeling on cloud nine. The day following the festival, I’m back in the office. There is a bouquet of flowers waiting for me on my desk. I look around  to see if anyone is watching me, maybe a hint at who they are from. I open the card. </p>
<p>I am proud of you.</p>
<p>The card says, but gives no indication who they are from. I automatically think they are from either Laurent or Liam. </p>
<p>“Someone has an admirer.” Tia, our Admin, says sweetly. I smile wide. I know I don’t have an admirer, but I’m still so fucking happy and proud of myself for the Art Festival. </p>
<p>I should be editing the Benefits Manual, but instead I’m Googling Art Festivals in the area. I start to make a plan. I contact a website designer and set up a meeting. </p>
<p>At the end of the day, the manual doesn’t get edited, but I’ve gotten a lot done. I plan to go to Central Park this weekend to see if I’m inspired. </p>
<p>I spend the rest of the evening taking a photoshop class online. I’ll need to brush up on my InDesign skills if I want to turn my hobby into a real job.</p>
<p>The week passes, and I do get a lot of work done, but I find myself wishing  more and more that I could do my photography full time. </p>
<p>The weekend arrives and I’m in Central Park. The sun has just made its appearance on the horizon, and I’m truly inspired by my surroundings. I take some natural shots, shots of joggers and runners. Shots of homeless people still asleep in the park. </p>
<p>Before I know it, it’s nearly one thirty and I’m famished. I walk across the street to a little deli. I grab a sandwich and a bottle of lemonade and walk back to the park to eat. I’m just people watching, not really shooting anything. I’m about to get up to throw away my trash when I see something that stuns me. </p>
<p>Edward.</p>
<p>He’s walking on the paved path, in what looks like exercise gear, but he’s not alone. He’s with a woman. A gorgeous woman at that. </p>
<p>I can barely breathe and I want to throw up the sandwich I just ate. </p>
<p>When we were married, he’d never dream of taking a Saturday off work to walk with me in the park. </p>
<p>I watch him, unable to move. He’s talking animatedly with the gorgeous blonde woman. He looks... happy. He’s walking at an easy pace, smiling, talking with his hands, the way that I used to love. </p>
<p>I can’t take my eyes off of them. He must feel my eyes on him because seemingly out of the blue, he turns his head and looks right at me. He’s probably about fifty yards away. I know I’m caught. </p>
<p>I grab my camera and run away. I hear him calling my name, but I don’t stop. I run into the nearest subway station, I don’t even care what line it is or where it’s going, I jump on the first train I can. </p>
<p>When I finally make it home an hour and a half later, I sob in the shower. </p>
<p>Is this how he felt the night he saw Riley and me? It’s fucking horrible. Why do I still care about him so much? Who was that gorgeous woman? </p>
<p>I’m tortured. I’m jealous. I’m still in fucking love. </p>
<p>I hear knocking on my door. I pull on whatever clothes I see first and look through the peephole.</p>
<p>Edward. </p>
<p>I sigh and open the door.</p>
<p>“Bella.” He whispers. He doesn’t look like the happy man I saw in the park just a couple of hours ago. He looks as tortured as I feel. </p>
<p>I let him in silently. I don’t know what to say to him. We just stare at each other. </p>
<p>“So you saw me.” I say, breaking the silence. What a dumb, obvious thing to say. I chide myself. I’m nervous. </p>
<p>“And you saw me.” He replies. I want to ask him who the gorgeous woman was, but I don’t want to be a hypocrite. </p>
<p>“So you’re dating someone.” I say. I hope that I don’t sound as jealous as I feel. </p>
<p>“Actually, I’m not.” He replies. Just a casual fuck, I think. </p>
<p>“You still dating that guy?” He doesn’t look at me. I walk to the fridge and grab two bottles of water and I hand him one. </p>
<p>“Not anymore.” I reply. He looks at me, gauging my honesty. I’ve never lied to him, so I’m a little surprised by his action. </p>
<p>“So, how’ve you been?” I ask. </p>
<p>“Good. I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching. I’ve come to realize a few things.” He says sort of cryptically. </p>
<p>“Oh yeah? Like what?” I push. </p>
<p>He’s peeling off the water label, a nervous tick. “Just how fucked up things got.” He’s not going to open up to me. I wonder why he’s here. </p>
<p>“That woman I was with... in the park, she’s my realtor and wife of my friend Emmett. She’s helping me sort out some things.” He explains, but not very specifically. Is he buying or selling? I realize that I know very little about his life now and it disturbs me. I used to know everything about him. </p>
<p>“It’s none of my business.” I respond. </p>
<p>“Then why did you run when I saw you?” He’s imploring me for an answer I’m not sure I’m ready to give. </p>
<p>“I panicked, I guess.” I say. I want to be honest because I’m not a liar, but I also need to protect my heart and sanity. </p>
<p>“Why?” He pushes, walking closer to me. I’m a lamb trapped in a lion’s den.</p>
<p>“For the same reason you punched Riley, I suppose.” I narrow my eyes. </p>
<p>“Bella.” Both of his hands are gently gripping my forearms. His touch sends me ablaze. </p>
<p>“Don’t” I plead because it looks like he’s warring with himself whether to kiss me or not. </p>
<p>As much as I want him, as much as I love him, I can’t go back to the way things used to be. I can’t be with him in that lonely, empty house.</p>
<p>He relents, but I can still see his wheels turning. </p>
<p>“Go out with me?” He asks. </p>
<p>“Like a date?” I reply, shocked. </p>
<p>“Yeah. A date.” He’s smiling. He looks hopeful. I want to warn him about hope and how dangerous it can be. Instead, I agree. To a date. With my ex-husband.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter 11-</p>
<p>He picks me up in the Audi. I gave him the car in the divorce because I resent the hell out of it and I don’t need a car. </p>
<p>He’s wearing gray slacks and a classic white dress shirt and a skinny black tie. He definitely spent time getting ready for this date because his hair is perfectly, wildly coifed. He’s using hair wax, so his wild mane remains in place. It reminds me of the times we used to go out in college before life became complicated.</p>
<p>I’m wearing a sapphire blue off shoulder dress. I agonized for hours over my look. </p>
<p>“You look stunning.” He whispers in my ear as he helps me into the sports car, causing shivers to run down my spine. </p>
<p>After everything, he still makes me weak in the knees. </p>
<p>He takes us to a quaint romantic restaurant in Red Hook. He tells me to wait for the him, as he opens my door and helps he out of the car. He hands the keys to the Valet and takes my hand in his, guiding me into the restaurant. </p>
<p>I start to feel hope that My Edward is back. He looks like him, he acts like him and the way he’s looking at me makes me think something has changed. </p>
<p>We’re ushered to the most romantic, most secluded booth in the small restaurant. Again, he guides me into the booth before taking his seat. </p>
<p>He’s fidgeting a bit, something he rarely does. He’s nervous too. When the waiter comes he orders an expensive bottle of red wine from my favorite region. </p>
<p>I’m done looking at the menu, having made up my mind, so I set it down and enjoy a sip of the delicious wine he knows I love. He’s eyeing me carefully.</p>
<p>“You know what you want?” I ask. </p>
<p>“Definitely.” He replies, but I don’t think he’s referring to food. </p>
<p>We’re going to need to have an earnest conversation at some point. </p>
<p>“So, Bella, I have a confession to make.” He says after we’ve placed our order. </p>
<p>I’m curious. Is he about to drop the other shoe? I raise my eyebrow in question. </p>
<p>“I saw you at the Art Festival.” He admits cautiously. </p>
<p>I’m stunned silent. Why was he there? Did he know I would be there? I didn’t see him at all, but I’d been so busy selling my pieces, I’d hardly had an opportunity to look around. My mouth gapes open, and I think that maybe, possibly he’s the one who sent me the flowers with the card.</p>
<p>“You’re proud of me?” I question. </p>
<p>“So fucking proud.” He replies, grabbing my hand. His smile is genuine and it makes my heart soar. </p>
<p>“Remember when you took me out to that meadow after Charlie bought me my first Canon?” I ask. We were Seniors in high school and Edward took me to this spot he found about a mile behind his parents house in Forks. It was springtime, so all these little colorful native flowers were in bloom. </p>
<p>We’d spent hours there. Me shooting the surroundings and him, trying to make out with me, which we did. Several times. </p>
<p>“That’s when I fell in love with you.” He said wistfully. “Your hair was blowing in the breeze and you held my hand and told me that I was a fucking stalker, but that you loved my stalker ways” he laughed. </p>
<p>“Well you were a stalker!” I giggled. “Climbing up to my window. One time, I had to tell Charlie a bat flew and hit the window because you made so much noise leaving.” </p>
<p>“You know, on our wedding day, Charlie actually called me bat boy. You fooled no one, Swan.” </p>
<p>“I’m a terrible liar.” I defend. His smile fades. </p>
<p>“You are.” He says. “And that’s why I knew I had to sign the divorce papers.” The light hearted conversation is over now. </p>
<p>“I failed you. I failed us. I’ll never be able to change that.” He’s right. We can’t go back and change the past. I wished that the last three years had been different. </p>
<p>Our food arrives and I’m thankful because I don’t know how to respond. He did fail me. I never wanted to divorce him, not really. I just didn’t know what else to do. Nothing was getting through to him and I thought I’d lost him to his career. He’d shut me out, silenced me, made our marriage loveless. </p>
<p>I’ve agonized and spoken to my therapist about the part I played in the demise of our relationship. The only thing I would’ve done differently is to push him harder, question him deeper about why he was more invested in his work than in us. </p>
<p>But I was never the confrontational type. I was never the kind of wife that nags or argues. We just weren’t like that, but maybe I should’ve been. </p>
<p>“I don’t know where we go from here.” I admit, as Edward is signing the credit card slip. He looks up. His eyes sad, defeated, but he doesn’t reply. </p>
<p>We drive back to my loft in complete silence. The air is thick with unspoken confessions. </p>
<p>I look at him. He’s thinking about something very intensely. As we pull up to the front of my building. He gets out and walks around the car, helping me out again. </p>
<p>We’re in front of my door. I don’t invite him in because I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.</p>
<p>“If I ask you to meet me at an address tomorrow evening, will you do it?” I’m a little weirded out by the cryptic request, but I tell him yes. </p>
<p>He slips an address in my hand, kisses my cheek and bids me goodnight.</p>
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